AfterDark

He leaned against the wall near the jukebox, hands tucked in the pockets of his black slacks, shirt sleeves pushed up just enough to show off the tattoos on his forearms. His grin was lazy, smug. “Course I did. Wanted you all to myself. Can’t have some random bloke distracting you with his mediocre flirting while I’m busy being charming.”

You snorted, walking deeper into the room. “You? Charming? That’s generous.” He shrugged like he didn’t mind the jab. “Figured you’d say that. But you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Free drinks and a private bar?” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “You could’ve been a little less cocky about it and I still would’ve said yes.” He sauntered over, the sound of his boots low against the wood floors. “C’mon. You like the cocky.” You let your eyes rake over him slowly, pretending to think. “I like knowing you think you’re in control.” Harry’s smirk twitched wider, a spark behind his eyes. “Sounds like someone’s asking to be humbled.”

He stopped beside the pool table, tapping the felt. “What do you say we make this interesting?”

You tilted your head. “Interesting how?”

“We play. Loser owes the winner a favor. No questions asked.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You really banking on me being bad at pool?”

“I’m banking on you being a little competitive,” he said, reaching for a cue and handing it to you. “And a lot of fun when you lose.”

You took it with a scoff. “Confidence’s cute on you.”

“So’s that little eye-roll you just did.”

The banter buzzed between you like a live wire, easy and sharp. The kind of rhythm that only came with tension right under the surface. You leaned over the table to break, feeling his eyes on you the second your ass tilted up. You made the shot clean, balls scattering with a satisfying crack. One striped ball sunk into the corner pocket.

You grinned, straightening up. “Guess I’m stripes.”

Harry stepped closer, cue in hand. “Might let you have the first one. Keep it fair.”

You stepped aside with an exaggerated bow. “How noble.”

His shot missed by a hair, and you didn’t hide your grin.

“Slipping already?”

He rested the cue against his shoulder and gave you a look that was all teeth. “Just warming up.”

Your next shot missed, and before you could reposition, Harry moved in behind you.

“Hold up. You’re gripping it too tight,” he said, his voice low beside your ear. He reached around, one hand sliding over yours on the cue, the other resting lightly on your hip. “Loosen your hands a little.”

You froze for a second at how close he was. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, the soft brush of his breath.

“This part’s important,” he murmured. “You want control, not tension.”

His fingers adjusted your grip, slow and deliberate. You glanced down, catching the way his pinky grazed along yours before it dropped back to your hip.

“Sure this isn’t just your excuse to grope me?”

His laugh was quiet, rich. “I don’t need an excuse. But thanks for pretending I do.”

You leaned forward, deliberately slow, letting your ass push back just a little against him. His hand tightened on your hip, subtle but noticeable.

“Oops,” you said, over your shoulder. “Was that too much tension?”

Harry’s smile was practically audible. “Starting to think you like playing dirty.”

“I like winning.”

You made your shot, this one clean again. Another stripe dropped into a side pocket.

He watched the ball disappear, eyes narrowing.

“You’re not terrible at this,” he said.

You leaned the cue against the table, crossing your arms. “You were expecting me to be?”

“No. Just hoping. Watching you bend over the table’s doing something to me.”

You tried not to smile. “Wow. So original.”

“I didn’t say I was trying to be original. Just honest.”

He circled the table for his next shot, clearly aiming just to make a show of it. His shirt pulled tight across his back as he bent forward, shooting with flair. The ball sunk effortlessly.

You clapped slowly. “Very dramatic.”

He straightened up, cue spinning in his fingers. “You liked it.”

You didn’t answer, just walked around to size up your next shot. The heat between you simmered, thick and heavy. He was close again before you even noticed, his hand grazing yours when you reached for your cue.

“Need another lesson?” he asked.

“I think I’m good.”

Harry stepped back, palms up. “Didn’t want to overstep.”

“Too late for that.”

He laughed, eyes dropping to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You saying I’m getting to you?”

“I’m saying if you keep talking, you might lose on purpose.”

“That a threat or a promise?”

“Try me.”

He watched you shoot, then leaned down to whisper as you lined up the ball.

“If I win, I’m cashing in on that bet immediately.”

You didn’t even look at him. “That so?”

“Yeah. Gonna ask for something real specific.”

You turned slowly, keeping your cue pressed against the table, chin up.

“What makes you so sure you’re gonna win?”

Harry stepped in again, close enough to make your skin buzz.

“Because,” he said, voice low, “I always win when I really want to.”

The air between you felt electric. His hand brushed your waist again, fingers pressing lightly as he walked past to take his turn.

You watched him move around the table with that same easy confidence, that barely restrained smirk like he already knew how this was going to end. He lined up a shot, took his time with it, and missed by a mile.

You blinked. “You seriously just whiffed that?”

Harry stepped back like it didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Guess I got distracted.”

You raised a brow. “By what, your own reflection?”

He tilted his head, eyes sweeping slowly down your body like he was mentally undressing you right there. “By you, sweetheart. Didn’t exactly account for the view when I planned on winning.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother hiding the smile that tugged at your lips. Picking up your cue, you sauntered around the table, letting your hips sway just enough. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

As you bent over to line up your shot, his voice followed you.

“God, that ass should be illegal.”

You paused, cue still in hand. “You always this poetic?”

“Only when inspired.”

You sank the ball with a soft thud, feeling his stare heat up your skin. When you stood, he was already closer again. Too close to be innocent, not close enough to be obvious. His fingers ghosted over the back of your thigh when he reached past you for his drink.

“You’re letting me win,” you said, turning to face him.

He raised his glass. “Would I do that?”

“You missed a shot you could’ve made blindfolded.”

Harry licked his bottom lip, eyes dropping to your chest before flicking back up. “Maybe I just like watching you gloat.”

You stepped in until your body almost touched his, cue resting casually against your shoulder. “Maybe you’re trying to get me cocky so you can knock me down later.”

He leaned forward just enough that his breath tickled your cheek. “Wouldn’t dream of knocking you down. I’d lay you out nice and slow.”

Your pulse kicked up at that, but you held your ground, chin tilted.

“Big words for someone who just scratched.”

Harry’s grin was wolfish as he backed off, letting you take the next shot. This one needed a bit more aim, so you leaned over the table again. His gaze burned into you like a spotlight.

“Bend a little lower for me,” he said, voice rougher now. “That’s it.”

You ignored him. Mostly. You lined up the cue, focused on the angle, but couldn’t pretend you didn’t feel the heat of his stare. Or the way he stepped closer, just enough for his hand to slide along the back of your thigh again.

“Gotta say,” he murmured, “this might be my new favorite angle.”

“Getting bolder, huh?”

“Can’t help it when you keep tempting me.”

You made the shot, one ball clicking neatly into the corner pocket. You were halfway to standing when his hand slid higher this time, just above your knee. Just enough to make you forget whatever clever comeback you were about to throw at him.

“Seriously?” you said, but it came out breathier than you meant.

He didn’t even flinch. “Just helping you keep your form.”

“You touching me is not part of the rules.”

Harry stepped in again, sliding his hand along your hip, that cocky smirk fully intact.

“Didn’t realize you were such a stickler for rules.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already behind you, reaching for the cue with you still holding it. His chest brushed your back as he leaned down, guiding your hands again. This time, his knuckles skimmed right over the swell of your cleavage, slow and deliberate.

“Arms a little wider,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Helps with stability.”

You froze, cue nearly slipping from your grip.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though you didn’t move away.

His hands moved lower, adjusting your grip again, thumbs brushing along the insides of your wrists like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like this was part of the game.

When you leaned down again, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your spine, his hips pressed against you from behind. No more pretending. He didn’t move right away, just let the weight of him settle against you. The hard press of him through his slacks sent a jolt straight through your core.

Your breath caught. “Harry.”

He hummed like he didn’t hear you, hands still on your hips. He rolled his hips once, slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

“Just correcting your stance,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You were a little off.”

You straightened, cue forgotten, eyes narrowing.

“You do that again, I swear to God…”

He arched a brow, tilting his head. “You’ll what?”

You turned to face him, chest rising fast, your body already buzzing. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Harry leaned in, nose brushing yours. “Yeah? Feels like we’re both playing.”

He didn’t kiss you. Not yet. Just lingered there, breathing you in like he wanted to memorize the moment before things tipped too far.

The table sat between you and the rest of the empty bar, but it felt like the only thing grounding you. He looked at you like he already owned the outcome, and maybe you were starting to believe it too.

You picked up the cue again just to have something to do with your hands, but he stopped you, palm over yours.

“No more pool,” he said, voice low and sure. “Unless I get to play you instead.”

Your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Harry saw it. His thumb brushed your wrist like he hadn’t just said the filthiest thing imaginable. He was close enough that your knees bumped his legs, close enough that your senses were full of him. His cologne, the heat coming off his skin, the way his eyes never dipped from yours. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just waited.

He didn’t make you wait long.

You barely finished inhaling before he spun you gently, guiding you back until the edge of the table hit behind your thighs. The cue slipped from your grip and clattered to the floor, forgotten. His hands were already on your hips, his mouth grazing your neck.

“You made a good shot,” he said against your skin.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, trying to keep some sense of balance. “Yeah, I noticed.”

He smiled into your throat, then nipped just below your jaw. “Let me show you how good I am with a stick, sweetheart.”

The words hit you low, rough and velvet all at once. You didn’t even have time to respond before he crashed his mouth against yours. It wasn’t slow or sweet or tentative. His mouth moved like he’d been dying to do it all night. Tongue sliding past your lips, hands gripping your waist so tight you felt it in your spine.

You kissed him back with every ounce of bite in your body, tugging at his shirt, nails dragging up his arms. He groaned into your mouth, low and filthy, and it only spurred you on. You grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him closer as your hips rolled against his. He was already hard, thick and pulsing against your stomach, and the friction lit something under your skin.

His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling just enough to make you gasp. He used that opening to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, biting it before letting it go.

“Been dying to shut you up like that,” he muttered.

You smirked against his mouth. “Gonna take more than that.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

Harry’s hands found the hem of your dress, sliding up your thighs like he had every right to. You hopped up onto the edge of the table without breaking the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. The sound of your breaths tangled with the quiet thump of music still playing somewhere behind the bar.

Your legs spread, knees falling open around him, and you tilted your hips forward just enough.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dropping like he couldn’t help it. “You’re not wearing tights, are you?”

“Do I look like someone who wears tights to a private bar?”

He didn’t answer. His hand was already sliding between your thighs, up the inside of one, slow like he wanted to memorize every inch. When he reached the edge of your panties, he paused, rubbing his thumb over the damp fabric with maddening laziness.

“God,” he muttered. “You’re soaked. Sitting here like this, all smug, acting like you’re in control when you’re dripping for me.”

You tried not to whimper. Failed.

“I bet you’ve been like this since the second I stood behind you,” he went on, voice low and rough. “Since I touched your hips. Since I whispered in your ear.”

Your back arched involuntarily, grinding into his hand, and he growled in approval. He pushed the thin lace to the side, exposing you just enough for the air to hit your slick skin.

“Jesus,” he said, fingers barely brushing your folds. “Look at you.”

You tried to pull him closer, but he stayed right where he was. One hand on your thigh, the other teasing the edge of you, slipping just the tip of his finger in before pulling back.

“Say it,” he said.

You blinked. “Say what?”

“Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Say you need me to touch you.”

“Harry,” you warned, breath shaking. “Touch me.”

That smirk returned, dark and satisfied, and his fingers finally pushed in. One at first, deep and slow, curling just right. You let out a broken sound and his whole body shuddered like he felt it too.

“Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His mouth dropped to your neck again, sucking a bruise into your skin while his fingers worked in and out of you, pace picking up with every moan you gave him. He whispered things between kisses. What he was going to do to you. How you looked with your legs spread on the felt. How you were the prettiest thing he’d ever had in his hands.

You didn’t feel like teasing anymore. Not when every word from him made your body tighten. Not when his fingers dragged against just the right spot and had your hips bucking forward.

He pulled back slightly to watch, eyes heavy-lidded. “Look at you. Fucking dripping for me all over this table.”

Your thighs trembled. His mouth brushed yours again, soft this time, almost reverent.

“I’m not stopping till you come,” he said. “Not even close.”

Your response was a gasp, the kind you couldn’t help. His fingers were still deep inside you, moving with a rhythm that was getting more deliberate, more hungry. Every curl of them hit something inside you that made your toes curl against the edge of the table. He watched your face, not blinking, like he was reading every twitch and breath and moan to fine-tune exactly how to ruin you.

You tried to close your legs around his hand out of sheer instinct, overwhelmed by the pressure building in your gut. He didn’t let you. His free hand gripped your thigh, keeping you wide open for him, letting the air hit you every time his fingers slid out, slick and shameless.

“Look at me,” he said.

Your head dropped forward against his shoulder, but he tipped your chin up with his thumb. His eyes pinned you in place. His fingers didn’t stop, didn’t slow.

“Look at me while I make you come.”

You did, eyes glassy, lip caught between your teeth.

He smiled, slow and crooked. “That’s my girl.”

Your body clenched around him, everything inside you tightening with every thrust of his fingers. Your hands gripped the edge of the table behind you, knuckles white.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he said, voice thick. “I could make you come like this all night. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You tried to answer but it just came out as a whimper, thighs trembling harder now, breath catching.

His thumb brushed over your clit just once and you broke.

It started low in your belly and ripped through you like a wave. Your legs shook, mouth falling open in a soundless cry before the moans caught up. Harry didn’t stop moving, kept curling his fingers through the aftershocks, watching your face like it was his favorite movie.

When you finally exhaled, limp and buzzing, he pulled his fingers from you slow, wet, dripping.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, blinking hard like you needed to come back to earth.

Harry brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, groaning like he’d just tasted dessert after a week of starving.

“Fuck, you taste like winning.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked. “That’s disgusting.”

He grinned, wiping his hand on your thigh. “You love it.”

You didn’t argue.

He stepped back just long enough to undo his pants, pulling them down just enough to free himself. You caught a glimpse of him, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. It made your mouth go dry.

“You sure?” he asked, voice quieter now, but not unsure. He knew your answer. Just wanted to hear you say it.

You nodded, legs spreading again, dress bunched up around your waist. “Get in me.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped between your thighs, one hand wrapping around himself to guide in. The moment the head of his cock pressed against your entrance, both of you exhaled like it had been building all night. Because it had.

He slid in slow, letting you feel every inch, watching your face the whole time. Your hands flew to his shoulders, digging in as he stretched you open. He groaned, forehead dropping to yours.

“Jesus. So fucking tight.”

You held onto him, panting. “You’re big.”

His smirk came back. “Say it again.”

You rolled your eyes but your voice was already thinner, needier. “You’re big, Harry.”

“Yeah?” He started thrusting, hips snapping forward in slow, deep rolls. “Is that why you’re gripping me like this?”

You moaned, digging your nails into his arms as he fucked into you. The edge of the table dug into your ass, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was the way he filled you, the stretch and drag of him hitting that perfect spot.

“Ride me,” he said, pulling back just enough to sit on the edge of the bar stool behind him. “Come on, pretty girl. Show me how bad you want it.”

You climbed on without hesitation, straddling his lap, hands braced on his chest. He slid back in with a low groan, hands gripping your hips.

You rocked against him, the angle deeper now, friction sharp and hot. His head fell back as you moved, watching you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured. “Bouncing on my cock like you were made for it.”

You kissed him again, messy and hungry, hips working faster now. Every thrust rubbed your clit just right, had your body singing. He met you stroke for stroke, hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat so he could kiss down it, bite it.

You clenched around him and he groaned like it hurt.

“That’s it. Just like that. My good girl.”

His praise hit you harder than it should have. Your moans got louder, pace picking up. You were right there again, closer than you thought you’d be this fast.

Before you could tip over, Harry gripped your waist and flipped you, bending you over the table without warning. Your cheek hit the cool felt, hands splayed in front of you.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed back inside, fucking you from behind with a force that made the table creak.

“God, look at you,” he growled. “Dripping for me all over this fucking table.”

He reached forward, grabbed your hair, yanked your head up just enough to turn it. There was a mirror behind the bar, angled just right. You saw yourself reflected, face flushed, lips parted, body arched with Harry pounding into you.

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror.

“Watch yourself,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “Look how fucking ruined you are.”

His hand landed on your ass with a loud smack, the sting sharp and addictive. You gasped, hips pushing back into him.

“Say my name.”

“Harry.”

“Louder.”

“Harry, fuck.”

He growled again, thrusts rougher now, every stroke hitting deeper.

“You’re taking me so good,” he said, voice rough. “Such a good girl for me.”

You came hard, legs shaking, face pressed into the table as your orgasm ripped through you. He fucked you through it, groaning your name, grip tight on your hips.

“I’m close,” he warned. “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Take it all like the good little slut you are.”

You moaned, nodding, too far gone to care about anything but the way he made you feel.

Harry buried himself deep one last time and came with a low, broken sound, holding you tight against him while he spilled inside. You felt every pulse, every twitch.

Neither of you moved right away. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the low hum of music.

You were completely wrecked, and he hadn’t even taken his shirt off.

Your body was limp, every nerve buzzing, but he didn’t slow down. He stayed deep, steady, breath hot against your shoulder as he leaned in closer, chest against your back. The weight of him, the sound of his ragged breathing in your ear, the wet slap of skin meeting skin—it was all so much, too much, not enough.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled out and turned you around, his hands strong and sure as he guided you to the edge again. Your legs fell open without thinking, still trembling. You were already oversensitive, twitching with every touch, but when he slid back inside, you let out a sharp gasp and grabbed at his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Still so tight,” he muttered, teeth dragging along your jaw. “Still so fucking wet.”

You were soaked. Your thighs, the felt beneath you, his cock. Everything slick and hot. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, messy and desperate. He didn’t flinch when you bit his lip. He groaned, fucked you harder.

Your hips met his, your body rocking forward with each brutal thrust. You felt every inch of him, every snap of his hips, every filthy thing he whispered against your lips.

“You can come again for me,” he said, voice thick. “I know you can.”

You didn’t think you could. You were spent, raw, barely holding it together. Then he shifted his angle, lifted one of your legs up over his arm, and hit something that made your eyes roll back.

Your moan broke into something high and wrecked.

“Right there?” he asked. “That’s the spot, huh?”

You nodded, head falling back, mouth open. His hand gripped your jaw, pulling your face back to his.

“Say it.”

“Right there,” you choked out. “Fuck, right there.”

“You’re so pretty like this,” he growled. “Mouth open, pussy gripping me like you were made for it.”

The words sent another wave through you. It started as pressure in your belly, built fast, and snapped hard. Your second orgasm hit quicker than the first, more violent. You cried out his name, clawed at his shoulders, shaking through it while he held you down and fucked you deeper.

He didn’t give you time to recover. He pulled you forward, turned you over again, bent you back onto your hands and knees. Your cheek hit the table as he slammed back into you from behind, pace rough and relentless.

The sound of your bodies, the slap of him against you, filled the room. He gripped your hips like he was trying to mold your shape into his hands.

“Look at this pussy,” he panted. “Taking every inch. So greedy for me.”

You whimpered, everything inside you unraveling. He reached forward, grabbed your hair again, pulled your head up so you could see yourself in the mirror. Your reflection looked ruined. Hair messy, mouth parted, eyes barely able to focus.

“Look at you,” he said, voice like gravel. “Dripping for me. Getting fucked like this on a goddamn pool table.”

You could barely hold yourself up, but he wasn’t letting you fall. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his cock driving into you from below now with rough, deep thrusts.

“You’re gonna come again,” he growled in your ear. “Give it to me.”

You didn’t even fight it. Your body was on fire, every part of you shaking, the overstimulation tipping you right into your third orgasm. You came with a broken sob, your legs giving out as your body locked up around him.

Harry swore under his breath, still moving through your release, chasing his own. He was getting close. You felt the way he twitched inside you, how his thrusts lost their rhythm, how his grip on your hips turned punishing.

He buried himself deep one final time, groaning into your shoulder, holding you tight as he came. Hot and thick, spilling into you in slow pulses, filling you up while his breath stuttered against your skin.

He stayed there for a moment, both of you too spent to move, bodies tangled, breath ragged. You felt the mess dripping between your legs and didn’t care. The only thing that existed was him and the table and the way your heart was still racing.

Finally, he pulled out slowly, with a groan that sounded like regret. You winced, your thighs trembling, completely boneless now. He leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“You alright?” he asked, voice softer now, hand stroking your side.

“Barely,” you muttered into the felt.

He chuckled, warm and low, and disappeared for a second. You heard the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of a bar towel being pulled down, then felt it against your thighs as he cleaned you up, careful and quiet.

“I should be offended at how much of a mess I made,” he said. “But I’m kinda proud.”

You turned your head to look at him, hair stuck to your cheek. “Kinda?”

“Alright, very proud.”

You let him wipe you down, let him ease you off the table and into his lap when he sat back on the barstool. His hands never stopped moving, one stroking your thigh, the other brushing sweaty strands from your face.

“That was,” you started, but trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow. “Earth-shattering? Life-altering?”

“Absolutely unnecessary,” you said, trying to keep a straight face.

He smirked. “Come on, admit it. Best game of pool you’ve ever played.”

You snorted. “Technically, I won.”

Harry shifted, reached behind you, and grabbed the black 8 ball off the table. He twirled it between his fingers, kissed your temple, and slid it into his pocket.

“Souvenir,” he said, winking. “Told you I play to win.”

You shook your head, completely wrecked and somehow still smiling. You leaned into him, breathing him in, still catching your breath.

“Next time,” you said, lips against his throat, “we’re doing this on the bar.”

He laughed, arms wrapping tighter around you.

“Game on.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖